


in those days

by Infinitree



Category: Green Eggs and Ham (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, eventually in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23100382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infinitree/pseuds/Infinitree
Summary: The trip to find Sam's mother goes less than expected.(Or, in which unease spreads as easy as melted butter as sides and schematics are drawn.)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	1. Wall

**Author's Note:**

> An introduction to East Flubria.

The one wheeled wubble-cart wubbled to a halt in front of a gate that looked like it was braided together with delicate hands. 

The effect was ruined by the fact that behind the gate was two imposing watchtowers on both sides. A gangly pipe dividing it in half, which in turn was supported by a stone wall about Sam’s height. A sign proudly proclaimed _Welcome to Flubria!_ , which had been struck out by a line of black paint. Below it, hung two signs on both sides denoting East and West.

_Welcome to East Flubria!_ the sign on the right said in bright colors. _Where the grass is greener, and people eat the proper way._

The sign to its left sung similar praises for West Flubria.

Sam jumped out of the one-wheeled wubble and ran straight to the bridge before stopping just shy in front of the gate. Guy’s brows knitted together at the abnormal architecture.

“Just think-- this is--” And he stomped on the ground for emphasis. “-- the first step to finding my _mom!_ Can you believe it? I wonder what kind of eggs she likes--” He interrupted himself with a loud gasp. “How alike do you think we are? I wanna guess ninety nine-point-a _bazillion_ nines.”

“One of you is more than enough,” the knox ribbed, pulling the other’s hat down in a playful fashion. “Let’s just figure out where Ma’s Farmhouse is first--”

As they approached the East Flubrian half of the gate, a barrier swung down saying _Smile! You’re On Camera!_

Before Guy could even process what had happened, a bright light flashed. Instinctively, he backed away before tripping over his own briefcase. Something in the wall beeped gently before two photo ID’s popped out of a cavity beside the barrier. Sam brought himself up on his tiptoes to grab them.

“Ha- _hey!_ Lookin’ good!” 

Upon closer inspection, it was a travel pass for East Flubria. And Only East Flubria, it added with an imposing red asterisk. Sam’s ID had him smiling with a cheesy grin. Guy’s picture caught him mid-fall, yelling.

Of _course._

The knox snatched the ID and stuffed it into his briefcase.

“C’mon, you’ll feel better after you take in that East Flubrian air!” Sam crowed, bobbing on his heels like he was hopped up on cartfuls of flannel candy. “Smells... east-y.”

Guy sniffed the air. “More like _yeasty.”_

The streets had the faint scent of freshly baked bread everywhere. It wasn’t unpleasant-- far from it. He couldn’t place the specific type of loaf, but he knew it was many and it still made his stomach rumble. 

“We can ask around for Ma’s Farmhouse at a diner?” Sam offered. “And grab a bite to eat?”

Guy let out a prolonged sigh before nodding. “Yeah, alright.”

* * *

The knox continued to look out the window of the Breakfast 24/7 Diner. It had a quote-unquote, _scenic_ view of the Sam-sized wall, which apparently didn’t stop at the front gate. It wound itself across the landscape and past the horizon-- presumably, bisecting the once-unified Flubria in half. It gave the surrounding area a surreal look; between the tall buildings and even taller smokestacks on both sides that were practically equidistant to each other, it made it look like the Flubria on the other side was just a reflection on a comically large mirror. 

It made him think of South Schvizelton and its northern neighbor on the wrong side of the tracks.

There was no question what they were going to get: two orders of the Breakfast for Brunch Special. It consisted of green eggs and ham, the former of which was proudly advertised to have come _Locally From Ma’s Farmhouse!_

“With complementary buttered oat toast for each ‘a you,” the waitress said as she slid a small plate in between their respective plates of green eggs and ham.

“While we still have you, uh…” Sam squinted to read the tiny print on her nametag. “...Tess, this Ma’s Farmhouse place, where in East Flubria is it?”

“It’s up north.” The waitress squinted back in kind. “What are ya, the food inspector?”

“No, no!” Sam tilted his head. “Just-- there’s so much factories and smogulous smoke up north! Makes you wonder where one could raise a quaint little farm...”

Guy leaned back and settled into the too-plasticy cushions of the diner, letting the little man take the lead. This was, admittedly, a nice change of pace from the frantic journey leading up to coming here. Now, they had a direction and a warm meal before they set out again. Distractedly, he snatched up the buttered oat toast to whet his palate-- when was the last time he ate it with anything on top of it?-- ready to take a bite.

The toast was promptly smacked out of his hand. Sam let out a yelp at the sudden sharp noise. The waitress looked at him with a withering gaze. 

Embarrassment quickly shifted to righteous indignation. Guy shook his slightly-stinging hand and scowled. “What’s the big idea?!”

“You seemed plenty distracted, so I did you a favor.” She leaned in and whispered loudly, “You nearly ate it _butter side down.”_

The way she said it made it sound like he was going to eat _poison._

Both men looked at her with varying levels of confusion, or in the knox’s case-- irritation as he began to pluck the toast from his now buttered neck ruff. He shuddered at the feeling of grease settled down to his skin. The nearby patrons within earshot gave him withering glances. Guy gave a judging glare back, albeit the effect was ruined as he shrunk back into the corner of the chair.

“Is that-- uh, a local custom thing?” Sam jumped in, mid-chewing on an egg. “We’re new in town, and--”

But not before another patron’s voice cut through the silence behind them. “Maybe you butter side- _up-to-do’s_ should mind your _yippin’_ business!”

And then the cafe burst into chaos. Guy ducked under the table as he watched patrons, waitresses, and even the cashier begin to engage in a heated argument against the first dissenter. Even the cooks began to yell through the little serving window.

He began to duck out of the way of the enraged patrons yelling about butter, clambering his way to the exit. As he navigated past the tables, back against the front counter-- almost there-- one of the patrons threw a plate… right at him.

Guy jumped up as he watched the plate hit the general area where his head was, shattering into a zillion pieces on impact. 

He immediately backed out into the doorway, but not without bumping into someone. Guy let out a short yelp, thinking it was another irate patron. He whirled around to see… not an angry patron-- perhaps a little irritated-- but mostly confused as to what he walked into.

The man, for lack of any better words, looked… smart. _Sharp._ The fur on his head was light both in color and consistency, combed back neatly. He had a fancy looking coat and gloves, obscuring any natural fur underneath. Two thick glasses were perched on his snout, magnifying his eyes to the point where the knox could only see the dots of it. 

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Guy tipped his hat hurriedly as he ran out to the sidewalk and a few buildings down.

The Sharp man watched him exit before making his way inside. 

* * *

“First day here and we managed to incite a fight,” Guy grumbled, wringing-- or at least, trying to wring out-- the butter in his fur. When no excited babble came, the knox looked up to see a distinct lack of--

“Sam?” he looked around. _“Sam!”_

“You rang?” He strolled up to him in a leisurely fashion. He held both of their briefcases in one hand, while another held his own personal fork. Two eggs were impaled on top of it, its green yolks running down the prongs.

“What took you so long?”

“I didn’t want to dine and dash.” Sam looked affronted for a moment, the hand that once held their briefcases now held up to his chest. “You know, you gotta support the local businesses, otherwise--”

_“Sam.”_

“Oh, right! Want some?”

Guy let out a deep sigh... before his stomach growled once again. He snatched up the fork and began to nibble on one. It was a little cold by now, but it was still as good as the ones he had eaten before.

“Hey, the good news is that we got a lead,” the former sneak offered. He began to bob on his heels. “Just one quick trip up north, and I can see her again!”

The knox paused for a moment. Even a few buildings down, he could still hear the din from the cafe. "...You know what, Sam?"

"What?"

“I take back what I said earlier-- I hope your mom is a lot more like you as opposed to… well--” As if on cue, the window in front of the cafe shattered into a zillion pieces. Someone had thrown a chair, which had squarely landed onto a nearby car's hood and activated the car alarm. Passerbys jumped back in alarm at the sudden noise, while others clutched at their ears. 

“Uh, we should probably go now.” 

Even Sam couldn’t help but wince, although that may be because of the distant sound of sirens. “Oh, most definitely.”


	2. Switch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to Ma's Farmhouse goes thunderously bad.

The northern district of East Flubria was the city’s pride and joy. It had entered into its own after an industrial boom that quickly spiraled to the city making strides to creating all manners of inventions, which in turn created every sort of factory for whatever the average East Flubrian would need. They were practically self-sufficient. Much more than _West Flubria._

 _After all, you know what East Flubria’s got over West?_ the brochure boasted. _A world-famous invention-off aired nationally, that’s what!_

Guy was impressed with the amount of condescension the text managed to convey in one travel brochure. He almost felt second-hand shame. He unceremoniously shoved it into his briefcase as he looked ahead.

“You know, I was expecting, y’know. A farmhouse. Not _this.”_

“Still, this _has_ to be it.” Sam looked up to see the logo of Ma’s Farmhouse, emblazoned on the factory in front of them.

The building itself had to be at least forty zeet high, if you didn’t count the smoke stacks on top of it. Tubes jutted out of the walls and entered into another part of it. There was the subtle thrum of machinery clanging coming from inside.

“How exactly are we going to get in there?” 

They approached an intersection with gently-curved lamp posts. Without a second thought, the sneak leapt up and began to climb the pole with a practiced ease. 

“Sam, get down from there!” the knox yelled, and remembering there could be people nearby, whispered loudly, “What if someone sees you?!”

“Re _lax,_ we haven’t seen anyone since we got here,” Sam retorted with a wave of his hand. The little sneak formed his hands into circles and put them side to side. He pursed his lips-- he’ll need something more powerful than his usual binoculars. 

He repositioned his hands front-to-back, and looked through it as a telescope, pointed straight at a factory window.

The glass was frosted from the chill of the night air, so he could only vaguely see silhouettes. There were a whole line of hands working a line, inspecting, shining, placing eggs into cartons.

And one of those hands _had_ to belong to his mom.

Sam readjusted his hand-telescope, surveying the grounds. There were no guards as far as he could see. All the shipment trucks were parked near the loading bay.

“Hold the pho--” He zoomed into the factory store attached to it that jutted out awkwardly. “-- ne, oh, _whoa!”_ His foot tried to step on a surface that wasn’t there, and he immediately fell back. He twisted himself in the air to try and do a rolling landing before getting on his feet.

_“Sam!”_

But instead of pavement, the feeling of worn hands grabbing him-- grabbing him _close_ as they rolled across the sidewalk-- made him jolt in surprise. And also almost sneeze, since his muzzle was right up against the knox’s chest ruff.

“It still smells like butter,” the sneak said with a laugh.

He could feel Guy under him untense his entire body. “One of these days, you’re gonna give me a heart attack,” he grumbled before standing himself up, pulling Sam up with him as well. “Please tell me we aren’t going to break in.”

“Alright!” Sam beamed cheekily. “We aren’t going to break in.”

The knox only gave a deadpan look-- it was a ‘Sam, I Am Completely Serious About This I Swear From Here To Kalamazoo You Better Not’ sort of look. The little man was unperturbed and kept on smiling.

“Not to worry, my dear Guy--” he pointed a thumb to himself. _“This_ guy’s got a plan.”

* * *

The storefront for the factory was small and cramped. The… _everything_ that lined the walls and chest-high aisles didn’t help with the claustrophobic feeling.

There were, of course, cartons of green eggs divided by how verdant their hue was on a scale of yellow-green to green-yellow to green-green. Assorted egg related memorabilia and knick-knacks lined the walls from novelty name keychains with a caricature of a green hen, to faux-rustic signs that had the Ma’s Farmhouse logo in deep green.

The only other person who was in there was a cashier who had jolted at the sudden door ringer that signalled their arrival. Their face was tired, but friendly enough, and their muzzle more wrinkles than fur. 

“Ah! Welcome to the Flubrian-- I mean, East Flubrian branch of Ma’s Farmhouse!” they announced.“H-- how can I help th’ both of you? Specialty eggs? A bouncy ball that looks like an egg?” He held up a calendar. “This _Eggs in Inexplicable Places_ calendar?”

“Hm, well--” Sam was immediately elbowed by Guy. “-- Maybe later!” The little sneak made a big show of looking around. “Slow day, huh?”

“It’s a living.” The cashier narrowed their eyes. “Most people nowadays go to the bread factory district, or the butter mines. You know how it is with supply and demand.”

“Uh-huh, yeah,” the little man replied with the confidence of a man that didn’t. “We were just wondering, have you guys considered tours? I’ve, uh, heard that those other guys do a similar thing.”

“Well, you’re a li’l too late for that,” they sighed. “Ever since… kind of recent events, that sort of thing was deemed to be a waste of funding.”

Guy looked over to Sam. Now that he knew him, he could see the parts where he was playing it up. How he would glance at the cashier for any sort of quirk that showed that he was convinced. After the _everything_ that happened with Mr. Jenkins, he never had much of a chance to see Sam in… action, per se. Considering how long it took him to figure it out, he doubted this random stranger would be able to call his bluff.

Sam let out a sad sigh as he placed a hand on the counter, conveniently leaving behind the converted pruckles-- had he been holding them the whole time? “Shame, we were _really_ looking forward to it-- we’ve been saving all year for this, too!”

The cashier furrowed their brow as they looked the little man over, and then to Guy. The knox lowered his gaze in what he hoped looked like pensive disappointment.

“I’m sure _such_ a storied establishment would have a fascinating story behind it! Preferably one in interactive walkaround form showing the _factory floor?”_

And there were other times that Guy wondered why he didn’t figure it out any sooner. He squinted at the little man. _Gee, that wasn’t suspicious at_ all! _Wow!_

But the cashier was unbothered by the strange request. They were too preoccupied with weighing in their options.

“Hm… lemme tell you what.” They put the pruckles into the cash register. “I give you the tour, but in return, y’gotta put a good word in about this. Drum up some hype so my higher-ups know it’s worth it.”

And without missing a beat, Sam said, “Sure!”

“Splendid!”

The cashier jumped over the counter and placed a _Sorry… Be Back Soon!_ sign. “Let’s go!”

“And please, spare _no_ expense,” Sam added.

* * *

“…Fun fact-- due to the rapid invention boom in-- East Flubria, this entire district had to be overhauled! It would have taken years…”

The cashier-slash-tour guide continued to drone on about the deep intricacies of the factory, and of the origins of green eggs. Under any other circumstances, Sam would have, at the very least, tried to retain _some_ of the information being relayed to him. But his mind was preoccupied with other things.

Specifically, finding the perfect window of opportunity. That, and making a good first impression.

“… Sam? _Sam!”_

He was shocked back to reality as Guy elbowed him to emphasize his loudly-whispered point. Whatever it was.

“This wasn’t a problem before when we thought Ma's Farmhouse was an _actual farm,_ but--” Guy wringed his hands together. “How exactly are we going to find your mom? For all you know, they could be one of the pencil pushers on the other side of the glass.”

“Oh, that’s easy!” Sam waved his hand. “I haven’t got a Feeling about anyone here.”

“A… feeling?”

“No, a _Feeling,”_ the sneak clarified, before turning his attention to the people on the other side of the glass. They continued their busy work as a Sharp-looking man talked with someone who looked important. The most he felt about them was being vaguely reminded of Michellee. And also that they owed her a pretty bruckle once they came back.

“You had a feeling about your mom when we ate those eggs in that one diner, how is this any different?”

Sam shook his head. “Because that was a _Hunch,_ Guy! And… when I looked through the window and saw inside the factory, I Felt it.”

He had never been more sure of something in his life.

They were quickly ushered past the windows, and into a sparse hallway that had some framed photos and news clippings. Up ahead was an intersection with a hallway that led deeper into the factory.

_Bingo!_

“…Some of the technology that’s standard nowadays was made by schematicators and the models were later repurposed for the butter battle effort-- you know, before, we used only Snick-Berry Switches, but now…” the cashier continued to ramble.

Guy’s ears perked up at that, but before he could process it, he was promptly pulled into a side corridor by small hands. The knox let out a short yelp before said small hands shushed him.

He wriggled out Sam’s grasp. “You said we’re not breaking in.”

“Can you really call it a break-in if there’s no _breaking_ involved?”

Guy gave him a Look.

“Listen, we can just say somethin’ about doing a family visit to drop something off, with you as moral support! It’s not technically a lie,” Sam said before running deeper into the factory. “Come on!”

The knox trailed behind him, looking over his shoulder, anticipating the cashier to realize their ruse and backtrack with a fury. When no one came, he continued on his way. 

Was it strange for a factory like this to not have a punch-card holder? It had been a while since he had been in a place like this-- he remembered that a distant cousin brought home the bacon in a similar enough factory. 

On that note, where were the lockers? The breakroom? Or even the room where the security room where they hand them their keycards? Maybe it was in a different part of the facility.

His theories were cut short as Sam busted the factory doors open and ran in.

_“-- Mom!”_

His voice echoed in the large factory, which was silent save for the quiet beeps and bloops.

“...Mom?” The little sneak darted inside and began scoping out the floor at a harried pace.

Whistling tubes and beeping egg quality checkers surrounded them. If the light hit the tubes just right, Guy could see wisps of green passing through them at what should be egg-crashing speeds, only for them to be placed into cartons with nary a scratch, and in turn placed at a mountain’s worth of cartons. The metallic platform under it whirred and buckled in on itself, surrounding the cartons until it became a truck that drove off to the docking bay.

Mechanical hands were everywhere, performing much of the work that needed finessing. Sam was staring at the line of hands quietly. 

“Son of a yip,” Guy murmured. “It’s fully automated.”

Honestly, he would be a little more impressed with the assorted gizmos in place, but there were more pressing matters. There was no hide or hair of a living thing-- not even a green hen, let alone Sam’s mother.

“She-- maybe she’s taking a sick day,” Sam offered as an explanation, mostly to himself. His hands wrung at his hat anxiously. “O-- or maybe she’s in a different room--”

“The only other room here is the office space we passed,” Guy pointed out.

“-- Maybe she’s taking a break!” he insisted, voice cracking. “That’s a thing, right? A room for breaks?”

“I don’t know Sam, this looks like state-of-the-art stuff.” Guy’s frown only deepened. “We should… probably go before the cashier notices that we’re gone.”

The little man was unresponsive. He only stared at the mechanical hands.

“…Sam?” he called out again. “C’mon, we need to get out of here.”

The little man reached out to grab one of the mechanical hands. But before his fingertips could graze them, an alarm started to blare. Red lights flashed across the factory floor.

Sam was snapped out of his stupor. “I didn’t even _touch_ it!” he yelled back at the alarm.

 _BUTTER SIDE-DOWNER ATTACK APPROACHING,_ an artificial voice announced. _PROTECTION INITIATIVE INITIATED._

A loud trumpet shook the glass. Something beyond the other side of the border wall was approaching. The most either could make out was a large structure with many nozzles carried by… elephants?

Before either of them could question it, the windows began to get shuttered with thick steel. Whatever the blasters were hocking, it made a dent, even through the steel.

Guy pulled Sam by the wrist and bolted to the door. Steel walls formed around the gizmos to protect them from damage. Even the door they came in was hunkering down with a thick, steel layer.

And if that came down, they’d be sitting ducks.

The knox quickly slid over their briefcases under the steel plating. It put a stop to its descent, but with the way the briefcases were straining, it was clear that it wouldn’t work for long. Guy picked up speed as he picked up the little sneak. The knox crouched down and gave the door a hefty kick to open it as they made their way through and under.

The briefcases, however, were not as lucky. With a quiet crunch, the steel shields flattened them.

The voices were much louder on this side of the steel-reinforced door. The workers’ panicked voices echoed in the hallways.

“-- Oh, dear!” the cashier from before was at the end of the hallway, out of breath. They caught sight of them before running towards them and grabbing the knox by the wrist. “I know you’re tourists, but please don’t just _run off!”_

Too shocked from what had happened, Sam and Guy could only comply as they were led into a safe area.

* * *

The little sneak didn’t know how long they were stuck in a bunker surrounded by employees and preserved eggs, but it felt like an eternity. Even in the limited glow of the emergency light, his eyes darted from face to face trying to glean any sort of common features, or some sort of recognition.

A lump formed in his throat as he buried his face into Guy’s ruff of fluff. He vaguely recognized that the knox was talking to him, but he was decades and zilometers away and--

_Sam is a child. He doesn’t even know how old exactly, it’s not like the orphanage could ask his mother. He’s moved from foster home to orphanage to foster home, his mother’s face blending into unrecognizable mush like the rest of the other grown-ups until he’s finally had enough and he’s gone, he’s--_

“-- free to go.” Guy waved a hand over the other’s face to catch his attention. _“Sam!”_

“Wh-- oh!” he immediately perked up with a tired smile. He stood up and began to stretch.

The walk back out the gift shop area was a quiet one. 

“Uh-- on behalf of the company, we are so sorry you had to deal with this,” the cashier said to Guy. “Is, the, uh-- little guy alright?”

The knox looked over his shoulder. Sam already had one foot out the door.

“Oh, uh-- he’s… well.” His muzzle scrunched up. “He’s just a little shaken up-- he’ll be fine.”

_Hopefully._

Once they were out of the district, Guy let out a tired wheeze as he leaned-collapsed onto a nearby newspaper box. It had been a long day, and near-death experiences took a lot out of someone.

Sam fared a little better, only letting out a small exhale. As much as he wanted to not look so dour, it was difficult to abate the twisty feeling in his chest.

“Sam?” the knox ventured. “You alright?”

The twisty feeling coiled in his throat-- made it hard to say anything.

“I’m sorry.” He clasped his hands tightly around the rim of his hat. “I led the both of us into this wild goose chase and we just used the last of our pruckles on that tour.”

Guy’s lips twisted into a wince. Years of invention showcases that led him to expect the possibility that things can fail, and usually with a violent end. The knox should have realized that it was _much_ too easy to find directions for something as vague sounding as Ma’s Farmhouse. 

Actually, no, _scratch that,_ he should have realized it as soon as they stepped foot on East Flubria, with its smokestacks and hustling bustles. Of course, the farms were phased out. Of course, Ma’s Farmhouse was just a small branch of a large, eggy conglomerate. But, he had wanted so badly to believe again-- that things could go right this time without a hitch for _once,_ for Sam to reunite with his mother, or at least get some closure.

“And now we’re stuck here. I-- I’m sorry, Guy.”

Guy stood himself up straight and looked the former sneak in the eye with such gravity that the former sneak couldn’t help but step back in alarm. 

“Who are you and what have you done with Sam-I-Am?”

Said Sam couldn’t help but let out a hiccuping _huh?_

“Because the Sam I know wouldn’t give up so easily.”

He clasped his hands together. “Well, maybe the Sam you know _isn’t!”_ he insisted. “Maybe the Sam you know is just… a little disappointed. That this--”

“...Was going to be it?” Guy finished and hazarded a smile that, he hoped, looked sympathetic. “You got your hopes a little too high, huh?”

The former sneak’s eyes widened, before remembering, _oh right._ If there was anyone who knew what he was feeling right now, it would be him.

Guy’s smile turned wry as he sat down on the pavement. He tapped the concrete next to him as a silent invitation. Sam took it with a hesitance he wasn’t used to seeing. 

The sneak rummaged in his hat for a moment before he found what he was looking for. He held up an egg carton cover-- or rather, _the_ egg carton cover from the day they found out about Ma’s Farmhouse. The bottom half had long since separated and thrown out, and the printing depicting the logo with the picturesque barn became worn, but he still kept it after all this time.

“I thought that we were so close, you know?” the sneak explained. “We had everything we needed! We had a plan, we got money-- which, granted, was like, _seventy_ percent Michellee’s--”

Guy winced. “Oof, don’t remind me.” As much as she insisted that she wasn’t expecting them to pay her back, it still didn’t sit right with him.

“-- it’s just…” Sam trailed off, pursing his lips before looking back at Guy. He opened his mouth, only for no words to come out. Then, he furrowed his brow as if reconsidering what he was going to say. “Do you think my mom’s here? Those eggs back there… they looked like they’re exported to everywhere.”

A pause. “Just because she wasn’t working there doesn’t mean that she… _isn’t_ here in East Flubria.”

He placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. 

“Think of it this way-- if she wasn’t back at Glurfsburg or Goo-bai, or any other place on our side of the world, we would have come around here anyway,” he replied, before letting out a short laugh. “We’re searching in the least practical way next to doing it at _random,_ but it’s not a total loss.”

Sam let out a little laugh, but his eyes were still downcast. “So,” he said finally, clasping his hands together. “What do we do now?”

And halfway across the world, with nothing but the briefcases in their hands, a handful of bruckles that they forgot to convert, and some assorted supplies, they were effectively stranded. Guy pursed his lips, gaze fixed down at the bent briefcase. He unlatched the locks and pulled out the brochure.

There, in bold letters: _A world-famous invention-off aired nationally, that’s what!_

Guy’s eyes widened before handing it off to Sam. 

“Looks like the invention convention’s in town.”

“O-- oh.” Sam’s disappointment wavered to confusion. “Um, oh! It’ll be such a good opportunity for you, Guy--”

“No-- I mean,” Guy made a frustrated noise. “If this is aired _nationally,_ then there’s a chance to, say, send a message to…”

Sam’s eyes twinkled as realization dawned on him. “My mom!” His expression shifted back to uncertain as he read the pamphlet. “One problem.”

“What?”

“The convention’s _tomorrow,”_ Sam said, before pointing to some fine print below. “And only contestants and other special personnel can get in.”

Guy balked, but only for a moment. He stood up, and he could feel his joints crack at the movement. And then he turned around, his brow set into something determined.

“Well, seems like we’ll need to get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all fairness, this has been sitting in my drafts for months. It only took a rewatch of the first episode to get me to touch this up.

**Author's Note:**

> ~~tfw you want to write a small theory drabble for s2 but end up wanting to write drabbles per 'episode'. the real question is whether i can finish this before s2 drops-- place your bets now!~~
> 
> Admittedly, it's a little slow but I wanted to set some stuff up settings-wise, along with... other things that may or may not be important. The one-wheeled wubble is a reference to _I Had Trouble Getting Into Solla Sollew _. I figure it would be sort of fitting, since finding Sam's mom is like a proverbial Solla Sollew for him. But, as that story goes, it'll be a lot more difficult than expected.__


End file.
